


Undeniably a Romantic

by thefirstreason



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9729014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstreason/pseuds/thefirstreason
Summary: A visit to where it all started sets them on the path they were always meant to travel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much just denial of the canon in this one, just a sweet short fic in honor of these men in love on Valentines Day. Thanks for reading :)

"So do you have one?"

John flipped the corner of his paper down and peered over it, "Sorry, what?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

The look of confusion on Johns' face grew. Sherlock sighed something tedious, "Today is the day people usually have them, dates. A Valentine, whatever they're called."

John's mouth fell open a bit in an empty question, where was this coming from? "No, then. I don’t."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, pushing up his bottom lip in contemplation, "Hm."

John cocked his head and dropped his arms, crinkling the paper into his lap. Offense lining his features with the corners of his mouth turned up incredulously, "What's this about?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I thought you might have one, seems like you would." 

John shook his head. What was he getting at? Sometimes he had dates, sometimes he didn’t. Was he taking the piss? John Watson losing his touch, falling into the complacency of bachelorship? 

"Would you like one?"

His stream of consciousness froze. Sherlock was staring at him in an expectant and curious way, unwavering in that hard analytical gaze. John switched his footing in the chair and brought his hand up to rest the weight of his head on the armrest from under his chin, narrowing his eyes, "What are you on about, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes like he was explaining the very simple and unoffending process of coagulating blood to someone with hemophobia. He checked his phone and quickly rose from the chair, striding over to their coats next to the door, grabbing his scarf and wrapping it around his neck, "Get your coat, we're going out."

"Wait, hold on." John stuttered to catch up to the sudden pick up in speed, he hops over next to Sherlock and grapples on his coat. "Where are we going then? Text from Lestrade?"

Sherlock sighs but doesn't respond. He quickly thumps his way down the stairs, John following close behind. John expects him to stop in the street to flag down a cab, instead, Sherlock takes a left turn and starts determinedly down the pavement. Asking questions at this point never gets him anywhere, so he begrudgingly leveled up to him and keeps in step, trotting off to somewhere he hoped wasn’t too far because it was close to dinner and his stomach was protesting. 

On that thought, his confusion doubled as they swung through the doors of a very familiar restaurant only a few blocks away. Angelo greeted them with a friendly smile and a pat on their backs, steering them to the booth they sat in their first night together. There was a burning candle already on the table.

John couldn’t yet find any words and awkwardly shifted into a position on the bench as Sherlock glided in easily, seemingly relaxed and content. 

Just as John was stringing together his thoughts enough to form questions, Angelo came back to the table with a long-stemmed red rose in a slim glass vase, placing it between them and winking at John. John only blinked back stupidly at him, mouth popping open.

"Got that Chardonnay in that you called about Sherlock, I'll go bring it out, ya?" He smiled, Sherlock reciprocated.

"Yes Thank you, Angelo."

"Good to have you boys in again. Doesn’t do business any harm having such a handsome couple in the window seats either!" He laughed. 

_"Thank you, Angelo."_ Sherlock reiterated the subtly of the desire to be left in peace. 

John stared down at the rose, and then the candle, and then his locked hands on the table. Was this? It couldn’t be, no. Was he on a date with Sherlock Holmes?

"Yes."

John did a double take, "What?"

"This is a date." How did he always do that, and how was he looking so calm? They matter as well have been staring down on evidence at a crime scene.

"A... date."

"That’s what I was suggesting." Sherlock smiled.

Johns' heart skipped in his chest and he felt his ears start to heat up, he jumped a bit when Angelo suddenly appeared at the table again, pouring the white wine into their glasses and departing again.

"You liked it correct? Blanc de Blanc from that restaurant in Sussex during the hemlock case? You drank it significantly slower than other wines, sniffing often and making satisfied noises every so often."

"I..." John caught his footing, sniffing the wine and nodding, "Yeah, yeah I liked it." Liked it was an understatement, it was the best wine he had ever had the privilege to drink. He had to stop himself from buying a very expensive bottle on his way out the door. He knew it was only available in the country unless he ordered it specifically online, which was even more expensive. Sherlock had ordered it, called in beforehand and gotten a bottle in for them for dinner. Dinner tonight. Hold on, how long had he been planning this?

In an evening of aborted questions and interruptions, once again John Watson was cut off by a waiter coming for their orders. Sherlock gave his and Johns, glancing at John for confirmation in the order in which he gave a quick nod. God, the man knew him well.

Silent at the table, he felt Sherlock’s gaze on him and raised his own and met those silvery eyes. There was a softness to them, an expression John had hardly ever seen on the man and certainly not one he expected to be directed towards him. His stomach did a little flip and he swallowed, something warm other than the burn of his cheeks started filling him on the inside like a goo; making him feel fluttery like a damn teenager, but also soppy. 

He thought he would never... that they would never. He believed the time for this to have passed. Sherlock and him, forever remaining on the fringes of unspoken affections, dancing around one another and always slightly out of step. 

Yet here he was, sat across from the very man who quietly filled the corners of Johns' heart and crept into his thoughts when he wasn’t paying attention. The very man who was looking at him in a way John has dreamed and never actually let himself hope that he would. 

Somewhere between going from jittery and confused to relaxed and content under that melting gaze, a smile had stretched his lips, Sherlock’s own mirrored back at him.

John licked bottom lip, flashing some teeth in a sustained smile, "This is a date then." Stated plainly, he was proud of the confidence he emulated. 

Sherlock gave a slow nod, sliding his right hand across the table and tentatively touching the top of Johns' wrist with two fingers. The gesture was more hesitant than Sherlock had been through this whole event and betrayed a bit of how nervous he actually was. John moved one of his hands to cover those questioning fingers, reciprocating with his answer.

"Right, good." John had to stifle a giggle that would be completely out of place, but the feeling that filled him was beginning to bubble over. To be fair, the expression that shined from Sherlock made it look like he was in conflict with the same issue.

They ended up both giving in and chuckling together. Why bother to fight it now?

Their food arrived and it was perfect. Not just the food, which was seasoned perfectly and paired with the wine tremendously, but Sherlock. Their conversation was never awkward or forced, as natural as it had always been, but better. Sweetened with little smiles at stolen glances that were no longer really stolen but given. What was stolen was food; a quick swipe of gnocchi, a bit of bread dipped in red sauce with jabbing forks and playful objections. They didn’t leave when their meals were finished because of course, the wine wasn’t. Glasses clinking and ambient Italian music framed the bottom of their glasses; it was then when hands were unoccupied and the table was clear that John chanced his fingers to thread into Sherlock's palm on the table, earning an appreciative smile. Sherlock picked up the tab at the end, John beginning to protest before being pinned with a stare from Sherlock that sent a shiver down his spine. 

_You can pay me back later_ he had said in that low resonant voice, and John suddenly felt too self-aware to rise up out of the booth just yet.

They did make it back to Bakers Street, full with food yet light with wine they practically floated up the seventeen steps onto the second story platform. John reached for the door handle before he was directed around by his arm to face Sherlock in front of the door. 

He found himself right at Sherlock’s nose as he looked up into those eyes glittering at him, illuminated by the soft light of the stained glass stairway lamp. His breath caught in his throat, he dared exhale onto the face so close to his own. He caught Sherlock’s gaze flicker down to his mouth and back up, wetting his lips.

"I believe..." He rumbles, "It's customary at the end of a rather good date that..." He trails. John can’t help but smile knowingly even if his heart is racing and his stomach is jumping. 

"Yeah?" He teases.

Sherlock screws his lips into a small tight smile in protest, he knows John understands what he’s trying to say, rather trying to do. Johns smile grows wider and he lifts his hand to the back of Sherlock’s head, fingers threading through the dense curls eliciting a soft sigh from the detective's mouth. He feels arms wrap behind him and sway him gently inwards.

He inched just close enough to smell Sherlock’s wine from dinner, "It was a rather good date, wasn’t it?" He murmurs.

Sherlock’s unwavering gaze shines with excitement, "Yes. Bloody fantastic, in fact." Comes his reply.

Then, because there was no more time to waste and the moment may have never been perfect until they lived this very one, they drifted forward into one another. Their lips met in a way that felt like they were destined for only each other, in one thousand universes and in one thousand timelines. 

Sherlock releases a soft, pleased noise from the back of his throat and John felt it echo through his entire body, pressing closer in turn and opening his mouth to taste Sherlock’s lips with the tip of his tongue. Happy to oblige, Sherlock returned the advancement and slid his own hand up Johns' chest to cup under his ear and jaw, brushing the nape of Johns' neck with chilly fingers. 

After tonight, John will never understand what took them so long to get where they were now. What felt like a dozen different obstacles that came in-between them before he hardly understands how they were so massive any longer. The only feeling he found important now and would continue to do so for the rest of his life would the body of Sherlock Holmes pressed firmly against him, the feeling of those full lips on his own and the knowledge that genius brain was going to lead them together on adventures of romance and discovery most only ever read about.


End file.
